


Mary the Contrarian

by KassieProphet



Series: Mary Goore Stuff [12]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Nipple Licking, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29772627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr Prompt:Saucy Mary GooreorYou go on tour with Mary, and he just can't keep it in his pants. But maybe you don't want him to…?
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Series: Mary Goore Stuff [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596607
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	Mary the Contrarian

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you note the tags!

When you heard you were going on tour with Leaking Abscess, you really hadn’t given it much thought. You knew them in passing, but they weren’t really your type of music—you leaned more toward screaming music that made a statement rather than music that just screamed.

Still, the whole point was to put together 3 bands that were just dissimilar enough to get a wider audience to the shows, so it doesn’t matter what you think.

The organizers had gotten a tour bus and a smaller RV for overflow, which the other girls in your group had claimed. Of course, it fit your whole band _minus one_ , and you'd taken the bullet because at least you'd had the benefit of growing up with 4 brothers.

You don’t mind sharing a bus with the guys…much. That is to say, you don’t feel _unsafe_ , but: oof. Their hygiene could use a mother’s touch. And you’re definitely _no one’s_ mother, so you've just had to make the squalor so much background noise like you did growing up.

There are also the rampant sex shenanigans. You said you didn't give a fuck, and whoo-boy did they take you at your word. There’s absolutely no discretion about using the bunks for any after-show delights, so it’s been a deal-with-it or bounce kind of situation. The noise-cancelling headphones helped, but your eyes. 

_Your eyes_.

(Maybe you’d feel less salty about it if you had groupies, but it is what it is.)

And then there’s Mary Fucking Goore.

To say you hated him would be overselling it, but he just rubs you the wrong way. It’s not like he’s ever done anything to you (well, he hit on you that once, but you'd stomped his instep, so it doesn't count) besides the general ribbing that all the guys do since you're a bassist. (A _girl_ **and** a bassist: extra useless… _haha—yes, very funny, so clever_.)

But him and his bandmates are definitely 60% of the hygiene problem, and of that Mary is like 70% foul—what with the spitting, the crotch scratching, the dirty socks, and the amount of times he’s bathed (which you’re inclined to think is zero).

Then there's his blatant posturing about his guitar skills (which, ok: he's more than proficient, but it's not like he's a _genius_ ) that sets your teeth on edge—especially when it's accompanied by how fit his fingers are. ( _Wink wink, yes we get it, Mary._ )

And _gawd_ —there's that self-satisfied smirk that’s perpetually on his face that only makes you want to smack off it whenever you see it.

He might as well be a walking list of all your pet peeves.

A third of the way into the tour, he decided his bunk was too small to fuck in and started using the couch—and in the middle of the day, too! You’d come back from doing laundry and _bam_ —pasty white ass. The other guys think it’s hilarious and peace out, but your dues paid for a share in this bus, and dammit—Mary Goore’s insatiable dick will not stop you from making a peanut butter sandwich.

It almost becomes your _thing_.

With Rudy, you guys fight over Mel’s fries that he orders and only ever eats like 5 of. With Derrick, another bassist, it’s—well—being bassists. With Grady, it’s matching him shot for shot. But Mary? Of course with Mary it’s being stubborn.

He's counting on the bro code? Well, fuck the bro code.

You don’t think Mary’s an exhibitionist—at least he doesn’t go out of his way to make his liaisons public (you’re sure if he had access to even a shitty motel room he’d use that), he just doesn’t care if you catch him railing someone facedown on the couch.

And at first, yeah, you’d averted your eyes and pretended not to hear the moaning as you went about your business straightening your bunk or putting your creature comforts away. But as the tour goes on, you have to admit you’re a bit curious as to what he’s doing that has the woman screaming like banshees. Either he’s as good as he says he is, or they’re faking.

(And you know what your money’s on.)

You’ve become so inured to the whole thing that by the time the tour’s halfway through, you almost forget it isn’t polite to watch as Mary squats on the couch and gives these women the prone bone of their lives. Honestly, you were only curious—like maybe his dick was magic or something—and you kind of feel like David Attenborough…but then Mary turns and catches you.

His face is flushed, his hair sticking to it in tufts, and his eyes are full of lust as he pumps into the moaning woman below him.

It does something deep in your gut.

And then he sneers at you, and you can practically hear him say, “Why dontcha take a picture? It’ll last longer!” and you scurry on your way, face burning.

Later, he leans against the doorframe to the kitchenette in the worn, pink princess robe he found at the Goodwill.

“People normally ask before joining in, cupcake.”

You’re writing down lyrics, and you look up to roll your eyes at him even as your cheeks flush.

“People usually aren’t having public sex like a creeper.”

He saunters in like the king of the world, pulls out a chair, and turns it around to straddle before resting his arms on the back.

“Thought maybe you got off on that shit. You always seem to be around when I'm…entertaining. Don’t you have to go get your nails done or somethin’ with your girl gang?”

You know he’s just trying to piss you off (as if his nails aren't a chipped black), but it pisses you off that he’s trying to piss you off.

“Nail polish protects your nails from the guitar strings, asshole.” 

You jab your pen in his direction, and sneer. “How does an asshole get so much tail, anyway?”

He shrugs, smirking.

“You show enough chicks Jesus, and that goes a long way to them thinking you ain’t that much of an asshole after all.”

It sounds like a snappy comeback in your head, but the minute the words are out, you want to shove them back in.

“So you’re saying the only way to get someone to stop thinking you’re an asshole is to let you fuck it out of them?”

He bites his bottom lip and sucks the air through his teeth as he gives you an appraising look. 

“You askin'…?”

You slam your notebook shut, and the already flimsy table wobbles.

“Fuck you, Goore.”

He shrugs again and leans back dangerously in the chair.

“Just tryna to pick up what you’re putting down, cupcake.”

Agitated, you stand up and jab a finger at him.

“I’m not gonna stop using the goddamned bus just because you have no…no couth!”

He cackles at you and slaps his hand to his chest.

“You wound me, fair maiden. I am the pinnacle of couthity.”

He’s still laughing as you stomp off.

To make matters worse, “couth” becomes the unofficial word of the tour. Mary starts using it in excess, and suddenly, _everyone_ is throwing it about like a hacky sack. You scowl every time, unsure if they’re just going with the flow, or if it’s somehow a subtle dig at you. Mary’s eyes sparkle at you, though, and you have a hard time staying mad at him when he’s giving you a look like the two of you have a secret.

If you thought Mary would stop abusing bus privileges, however…well—when did Mary Goore ever stop doing something he was told not to do? If anything, he suddenly seems to thrill in you catching him, and you suspect he's putting on a show just for you.

And you’re finding it harder to look away.

You keep telling yourself that the adrenaline you feel when you scamper onto the bus now is preemptive anger and not a rush of excitement. You absolutely _do not_ look forward to the way Mary’s eyes hold yours as if to say, “I’m railing her, but I’d much rather be railing you.”

Neither of you talk about these little interludes where you “catch” Mary in flagrante delicto and don’t look away. The women don’t even seem to mind, and a few have even broken the spell when they giggled and invited you to join.

You _couldn't_. 

_But what if…?_

As you lie in your bunk at night while the bus sways, you finally have to admit to yourself that you’re tempted.

But you know—for science.

Fuck Mary _once_ so you can confirm 100% that these women are putting on one hell of a show.

The chance finally comes on a day off where the girls want to explore downtown and the guys break off into their pods.

Mary waves them off saying, “I’m broke as fuck, dudes, and I’m tired of greasy diner shit.”

You think that may be code for “I got some sweet ass on the way,” but you double back anyway, complaining of period cramps. It’s not an effective ruse since most of you have been synched since you started living out of each other’s pockets, but the only resistance you get is a raised eyebrow or two.

They probably think _that_ was code for “dick appointment,” which: maybe it is.

When you climb back into the bus, you find Mary sprawled on the couch, reading a guitar magazine. His eyes briefly raise to meet yours, but then he grunts and goes right back to the glossy pages.

Heart pounding, you shuffle over to the couch, pluck the magazine from his hands, and straddle his lap. He looks up at you and tilts his head before leaning back into the couch, arms splayed over the back.

“What’s this, then?” he smirks, tilting his chin at you.

“I want you to show me.”

You lean forward to rest your palms on his chest, and you can feel his heart rabbiting under your hands.

“Show you what, cupcake?”

You grind down on him, rolling your hips.

“Show me Jesus.”

Mary sits up, and his hands come to grip at your waist. His face meets yours, and you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he says,

“If we do this, you gotta lemme touch you. You ok with that?”

You nod, bumping his head. “Yeah.”

The word barely leaves your lips before Mary’s mouth is on yours, and you’re surprised he tastes vaguely of toothpaste. It almost seems like he’s yanking off your shirt and undoing your bra at the same time, and then his hot mouth is on your tits. Hands pressed into your back, Mary’s lips and tongue travel from one nipple to the other as he sucks on and laves at them.

And, _shit_. 

That does feel pretty good. You rock into his lap, and you can feel your panties start to stick to you. Mary seems content to play with your nipples as you gasp and moan, gripping into his hair, and you don't hold back, rubbing your crotch against his for that delicious pressure. Between his lips and the bulge you’ve been rutting against, you work yourself up to a climax that's soft and fluttering. Mary holds you to him as you jerk against his chest, pressing little kisses to your clavicle.

Only once you still, does he start to wiggle through your legs and off the couch.

“What’re you…?”

“Wanna taste you,” he rasps as his hands fumble under your skirt to pull your sticky panties aside. His arms wrap around your thighs just as his tongue parts your heavy lips.

You’re still sensitive, but ready to go, and you moan as the top of his tongue starts to flick at your clit. Your arms use the back of the couch for leverage as you ride Mary’s mouth.

“Put a finger in me!” you gasp, and when he slips on in easily, you beg for another.

As his tongue does its best to coax another orgasm out of you, you rock into his mouth and press back into his fingers to hit all your hot spots. You’re panting and grunting as you work to build the sweetness up once more, and when you get close—trembling and whining—Mary’s steady tongue work gets you the rest of the way there.

You try not to break his neck as you push down into his mouth, moaning and gasping, but he’s a veteran, apparently, and he expertly follows your thrashings.

When you come down, you expect Mary to squirm out from under you…but he keeps going.

You twitch a little as the _flick flick flick_ of his tongue overstimulates your clit.

“Mary, that was… _oh_ …I’m done. I—”

He just grunts and pulls you back onto his face.

And yeah: ok.

“ _Oh_. Oh, fuck yeah!” you gasp as your already pulsating clit throbs anew when Mary’s tongue swirls slowly around it. His fingers press into your G-spot, and you briefly see sparks behind your eyes.

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” you grunt as you roll your hips, already close to spilling over again.

Mary takes it as encouragement, and both his tongue and fingers speed up. You’re far less active this round, content to rest on your haunches and pant as the sweat drips down your body and as you feel the tension building once again between your legs.

You shake and your pussy spasms—you’re so close…if you could just…

One of your hands searches for something to grasp, and suddenly Mary’s hand is there, letting you grip it hard. You squeeze and squeeze, letting out a breathy _Ughn_ that’s Mary’s only warning you’re about to cum.

His tongue caresses your hardened clit just right, and you jerk violently as the waves of your orgasm crash through you like a roiling sea. You’re still gripping Mary’s steady hand, and it’s probably the only reason you haven’t fallen ass over teakettle.

You slump forward into the back of the couch once the swirling colors recede, and it’s only then that Mary slips out from under you. You’re too busy panting and pressing your hand into your cunt—to massage out any lingering aftershocks—to pay much attention to him, but you’re dimly aware of the rustle of clothes and the clink of a belt.

The cushion next to you dips, and you turn your head to find Mary, naked and pale, with a condom wrapper in his teeth. Your eyes jump down to where his hard cock juts flushed and leaking from his curls.

He rolls on the condom, and your brain comes back online enough that you start wiggling out of your skirt and panties. You’re still sluggish from your orgasms, and Mary impatiently divests you of your clothes the rest of the way.

“Fuck, c’mon—I’m gonna bust.”

You go to roll over, think better of it, grab Mary’s t-shirt to spread under you, _then_ lie down.

“Nice,” he scoffs, but his one hand comes down beside you as the other guides his cock into you.

“Oh fuck. _Oh fuck_ ,” he gasps as you grunt softly. His hands fly to dig into your waist as he gives himself a moment to adjust. You feel his cock throb, and you can’t help clenching around him. 

He lets out a long groan followed by, “Oh my god,” and then he’s yanking you back onto his dick as he starts to pump into you.

“Oh fuck, oh yeah. Knew you’d be good. Knew your sweet little cunt would feel good around my cock. Fuck, so wet. So wet for me. Wanna feel you dripping down my balls.”

You just moan and fist Mary’s shirt—you’re a sensitive, throbbing mess between your legs, and Mary's relentless piston into your G-spot isn’t helping you to not want another orgasm.

He’s already slapping into the meat of your ass, and you find yourself screaming, “Oh fuck, Mary! Harder!”

He grunts, but acquiesces, and you manage to get a hand under you even as he’s jolting you up the couch. Your skin has been a live wire since he took your shirt off, and your clit has been primed and ready to go from 3 orgasms. The fill of Mary’s cock is a different pleasure entirely, and it doesn’t take much rubbing against your fingers for you to feel that rush and quickening of blood again.

When he feels you start to tighten, he pants out, “ _Yeah_ …fuck yeah. Clench that little pussy. Wanna feel you cum around my cock. Get ‘er nice and tight for me, cupcake.”

You rub your face into Mary’s shirt as you press down into your fingers again and again to push yourself over that cliff. It’s almost too much, and you whine as you feel yourself crest and hover before everything starts popping and sparking. Your pussy contracts hard around Mary’s cock, and he doesn’t so much fuck you through your orgasm as drive hard into you to achieve his own.

He cums hard, grunting and yanking at you as he thrusts deep into you a few times before collapsing onto your back. You yourself are still pulsing when he groans in your ear and jolts into you a few times more.

The two of you lie there, panting heavily, unmoving and unspeaking for several moments until Mary rasps, “Well?”

You turn your head slightly so that you’re not speaking into the couch.

“Well, what?”

“Did you see—”

The door bangs open, and the entire lineup spills into the bus with bags and takeout, startling you both.

“I fucking _told_ you!” shouts one of your girls.

“Ha! Pay up, suckers!” whoops one of the guys.

Mary stands up, nude as the day he was born and with the used condom still hanging off his soft dick.

“Who’s next bitches? I gotta box of 500 here.”

It’s crass. It’s vulgar. It’s _rude_.

But.

While everyone is hiding their eyes and groaning and throwing shit at Mary, you’re free to scramble off the couch and start yanking your clothes back on.

And, damn.

You guess Mary isn’t as much of an asshole as you thought, after all.


End file.
